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“The last thing I am is Irish,” insists Eric Miller, a sullen Belfast loyalist, in David Ireland’s caustically funny new play. Wary and fidgety, he keeps his chin down and his eyes up when talking, even as his psychiatrist assures him that this is a safe place where anything can be said without judgment.

Both Eric and David Ireland seem keen to test those limits in this co-production between the Abbey and the Royal Court, lobbing unpalatable opinions, outrageous claims or racist epithets. For Eric believes that nowhere is safe, and the threats to his identity amassing. One such danger, fiendish and extraordinary, has brought him here: he believes his five-week old granddaughter is Gerry Adams.